Soul Searching

Soul Searching Soul Searching By Quillusion Chapter 3 (rated R for sexual situations)   I am very lucky that Severus Snape is the sort of man who likes to shower after having an orgasm. Given the volume of the one he's just had, I doubt he would have any other option- unless he wished to use his wand. But it appears that he craves the relaxation of warm water, because the shower turns on and I hear the soft, rustling sounds of clothing falling to the floor.   I force my mind away from the image of a very naked Severus Snape with hot water streaming down his body. I don't let myself imagine soaping him up myself, and I definitely don't imagine my hands massaging him with a towel when he's done, while the rest of me takes a good, long look at him.   I can't quite stop myself from wondering if he uses shampoo, however.   Moving stealthily, I slip out of the wardrobe and cautiously return the doors to the position they had taken during my occupancy. I grimace at the scent of aroused woman that lingers in the fabric, but I can only hope that it will dissipate before he needs fresh robes. Surely he doesn't sleep in his teaching robes! Well, I will have to leave that to fate. I murmur a soft freshening charm, pointing my wand through the crack in the doors, and turn to leave.   I stop as I pass his chair. I can still smell sex in the air, the heady combination of Severus and semen, and my mouth starts to water where it was dry only moments before. Itilytily examine the book; it is bound in green leather with a serpent stamped in silver on the cover. The snake's coils outline the title, WIKTT Archives. I open the book to the foreword-   -and discover that I am perhaps the last woman in the world to develop a crush on Severus Snape. This appears to be a collection of stories written about the good Potions Master at Hogwarts; the authors are a group of women who share an interest in him. It does not take more than a few seconds to skim the page. Words like "cock", "pussy", "lick", "moan," "thrust", and "come" leap off the page into my mind, and I am surprised enough to forget that I must hurry away or risk being caught by a man I have just watched masturbate himself to orgasm while reading erotic stories in which he is the main character.   I can't stop, though, and I skim thr the the pages, nearly dropping the book when I find a story called Hermione's Dilemma. I squeak aloud before I can stop myself, but a hasty glance at the bathroom reveals that Professor Snape is still showering. I skim the story, stunned past speech to realize that these women also write about... me. I rapidly flip through the pages with the ease of the confirmed bookworm, and am surprised to find my own name along with Severus' in most of the stories. These women are incredible.   They write stories about Severus and me, in love, or at least in bed.   Now why did I never consider this before? The idea has me in its grip after what I've just watched Severus do, and I realize that these women are more insightful than I am. They're convinced we're perfect for one another, and perhaps we are. Goddess knows I haven't felt like this about anyone else since arriving at Hogwarts. He's my teacher, but at the same time, he's tnly nly man I've ever met who could really appreciate me- the real me, brains, body, bookbag, and all- and who might not mind the messy hair, or the fact that I don't wear makeup or bother with expensive clothes.   But I am snapped out of my reverie by the sound of the shower turning off. I still mustn't get caught. I risk one last second to glance at the foreword, and to my surprise, I learn that "WIKTT" isn't a reference to cricket at all, or even to Douglas Adams. It's an acronym. I can't quite swallow the lump in my throat when I read it:   When I Kissed The Teacher.   Who are these people? And how do they know so much?   I am safely back in my room, my single dorm room given to me by virtue of my position as Head Girl. I'm glad for a single tonight; my body is still thrumming with desire, and I know it won't go away unless I relieve it myself. I'm also glad not to have to face the knowing female looks of Lavender and Parvati, both of whom have known several different men in the Biblical sense, and who would not believe for a minute that I had not spent my evening with a man.   I take a quick shower and settle into my bed, turning the ideas I'd found in that book over in my head. When I Kissed The Teacher. Clearly, that's a reflection of my relationship with Snape, and it suggests that these people see things from my perspective. Well, naturally; they are women, too. They must fantasize about Snape and use me as the most likely person of his acquaintance to be able to live those fantasies with him.   Interesting. Setting aside the fact that I have no idea who these women are, or how they know about us, or why they have written the book I saw tonight, or where Severus got it, I consider their point for a moment. And I realize that, mysterious as they are, they are quite correct. I am the only eligible female of the right species at Hogwarts who can really appreciate him. McGonagall is not his type, and I'm not sure Trelawney is his species. Sprout is permanently attached to Flitwick, and Madam Hooch isn't the right orientation for him. No one else can match his intellectual gifts, his academic ambitions- perhaps it is egotistical of me to say this, but given my school record, it is not an assertion without support.   Besides... it's my name he cries out when he climaxes. And that's no small compliment, despite what the students think of Snape; they don't even deign to consider that he might have a sex life. But I know the discerning mind behind that acid tongue, the sharp intellect that watches everything, responding with quick wits and incisive action. I know what it must mean, that I've won my way into that mind- for the only way to get to his heart is through his mind.   I'm not really sure, but I think I may have had an epiphany tonight. I sit up against the headboard, considering. How to make something of what I've learned? I've only just realized my feelings, but I'm also very aware that they've existed for a long time, wrapped in a shroud of my own ignorance. It just took a little help from WIKTT's members to clue me in. Which makes me wonder if, perhaps, they've also clued Severus in to feelings that might have lain dormant for a long time.   My pounding heart and sweaty palms at the very thought of being the object of Severus' affections make me realize something else. Some part of me has made an irrevocable decision to follow this through, knowing it's the right thing to do with an unshakeable determination I've only felt a few times before: when I wrote to accept my letter from Hogwarts, when I lied to McGonagall about the troll, and when I...   But no matter. It's right, and I'm going to do it. But how?   I sigh. Too much has happened in one night. I decide to put the Snape question aside for a moment, and turn to look at the bottled soul. The crystals glint a little, even through the dark glass, and I take the bottle carefully to my desk, where the potion recipe is carefully hn inn in a false drawer bottom. I read over the ingredients again.   I am nervous about performing the last step in the potion, the one that actually involves the human soul. It must be done with great precision, exact timing, and a very complicated set of wand movements around- but not in- the cauldron as it is done. I know it's better to have two pairs of hands for this part, but Ron is not very good at Potions, and neither is Harry. Ginny's a little better, but she's so worked up over her mother's condition that she can't even write a straight line right now, let alone keep hands steady over a brewing potion.   My head is beginning to ache, and my body is still tight with frustration. I drop my face into my hands and massage my eyes for a moment; if I'd been smart, I'd have swiped a bottle of headache remedy from Snape's storerooms while I was there. Too bad I hadn't known then that I would need it.   I hide the soul in the drawer with the potion recipe, and wearily put myself to bed. Time enough to worry about that in the morning; by tomorrow night I will have to finish the potion- whether I feel ready, or not.     A/N: Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed! Thanks also to my beta, The White Knight. A few acknowledgements of ownership:   Hermione's Dilemma belongs to Ehann, and I mention it here out of reverence. (It was the perfect plot device to catch Hermione's attention!) The 'WIKTT as a reference to Douglas Adams' refers to the Wikkit Key, as mentioned in his book Life, the Universe, and Everything. It's used to let the rather jealous residents of the planet Krikkit out of their Slo-Time envelope, thus wreaking havoc across Lord's Cricket Ground in London. What a mess.